


Blue Ribbon

by orphan_account



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Pandoraverse - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pandoraverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Duke Vladimir Blueblood, a fabulously wealthy royal, has grown tired and weary of living his life in Canterlot and decides to travel the world... with an unexpected companion. In order to ensure his safety, Princess Celestia and Queen Chrysalis assign one of their best guards to accompany Blueblood on his journey. And they do not get along.
Relationships: Prince Blueblood/Pharynx
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to "if I'm going to do shenanigans, I'm going to do them right (by wasting several hours of my life lol)." 
> 
> If you haven't read or seen or heard of the Pandoraverse, please give Lopoddity a watch on deviantart (boop: https://www.deviantart.com/lopoddity/gallery/53766182/mlp-next-gen), it's literally amazing. Also, if you are Lopoddity, hello, I hope you enjoy and that I didn't screw up their characters too badly T-T.

To be constantly surrounded by unfiltered Canterlot, under a fancy title, was to be surrounded by people who found themselves in possession of a lot of money. This afforded them the luxury of owning many fancy things. Yachts, art galleries, expensive houses, occasionally other people. Harems and dirty business deals, and expensive alcohol, and exotic drugs. The privilege of not caring whether or not the next princess was a Liberal Democrat or not. The values of a romanticized, idealistic sixteenth century. An unbearably long list of table manners. 

Duke Vladimir Blueblood did not remember the last time his name was called without the presence of his title to precede it. He wondered sometimes if there was ever such a time since his birth. “Duke” was probably on his birth certificate. He had become accustomed to it, it’s very fanciful presence in his life for twenty-seven fanciful years. It rolled off the tongue, and it was as much a part of him as an arm or a leg. It was something extra. An ugly appendage. He walked down the street, and people revered in his presence, because they saw that appendage on him, sticking out of his head, right along with his horn and his ears and his perfect hair. 

A wealthy couple, wearing the finest clothes in all of Canterlot, passed him on his walk down the avenue. They bowed their heads as they passed. A window washer averted his eyes towards the ground - he never came within a yard or two. Blueblood could make out a marching line of guards on their way to Canterlot Castle in the distance. Among their ranks was a  _ changeling _ . 

To be surrounded by unfiltered Canterlot was to be surrounded by a few different  _ kinds _ of people, some of which, in the esteemed opinion of Duke Vladimir Blueblood, did not belong there. And they all treated him with the same dutiful respect. They all gave him a bow as they walked by, moving their legs in unison, like toy soldiers in a cheap playset. They swerved to avoid his path because for him to have moved for them was not a concept that had crossed the minds of either himself or the guards. 

It was a good thing, too, that Blueblood didn’t know how lucky he was to be born when his parents were in the right place at the right time, because if the money tasted good enough there was no reason to really think about why that was. It made the air smell greener than it did out in the countryside where there was nothing but grass, and the grass wasn’t the same green. 

There was a changeling heading the back of the marching line. His helmet was made of gold but the sun was hiding behind the tall buildings this afternoon, so it didn’t shine the way Blueblood liked gold to shine. He was looking where he was walking, which made it all the more appalling to everyone around when he refused to swerve away from Blueblood’s path. 

He bumped Blueblood’s shoulder as he passed, and Blueblood did not even have adequate time to form the indignant reaction he meant to before the changeling - filthy creature - added “‘Scuse  _ you _ , Ken-doll.” 

He left Blueblood behind him in a sort of state of revulsion, with his jaw and his dignity on the ground.

* * *

After a few drinks, he’d picked his jaw up quickly enough to find a suitable lady to bring back to his suite at the castle with him on the same evening. He had been bored, and remained bored suitably thereafter. He hadn’t asked the lady to leave this time, which was unusual for him, but he still hadn’t remembered her name. In fact, he’d forgotten as soon as she’d told him, but he felt like talking, and to somebody other than himself. 

“You and I should travel, my dear,” she said. “We could see such wonderful things together.” 

He placed a hand on the flank of his leg. It was where his cutie mark was. That pointless and needlessly flashy thing. It went with his eyes and his silk yardage of hair. Perhaps he should travel. Not with  _ her _ , obviously, but he certainly had the means. What with diplomacy being the hot new topic, nobody would find it in the least bit strange if he decided that tomorrow he wanted to disappear for a month or two. Perhaps going different places would be a refreshing change of pace from the routine of unsavory activities he had gotten himself into in the latest year or so. 

In the morning an art gallery, during the day, spending more money than he needed to buying clothes he would never wear, investing in places he would never set foot in, reserving tickets for shows he wouldn’t go to so that he could tell people he did. In the evening, a drink or seven, some new drug he’d never heard of, or an old classic perhaps, an expensive, beautiful club, so that he could surround himself with expensive, beautiful people. Sleeping with a person or two, and then kicking them out so that he could spend the night pretending to sleep. 

He’d recently developed unsightly dark circles under his eyes, which he regularly covered with makeup and pretended around with strong coffee. 

Perhaps he should break in one of his yachts that he never used. The big one, with the deck and the packing room for a months-long voyage. It wasn’t his flashiest one, but it would do. He could call himself a diplomat. Maybe in other countries, they had better alcohol. More attractive people. Different things to spend his money on.

“You want to travel?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been cultivating an interest in different cultures and foreign places.” 

The palace of Canterlot was not particularly more grandiose than other places. In fact, if Blueblood had to say anything about it, it would be that it looked far plainer than many of the places he had visited that belonged to the people he called his friends. 

Princess Celestia was royalty in a vastly different sense than Blueblood was. Yet he, as did all Canterlot royals, enjoyed many of the very same luxuries. He lived in the palace. He enjoyed the fruits of others’ labors. The difference between himself and Celestia, besides of course lawmaking power, was that he did not bother himself with pretending to be concerned with people who were beneath him. 

“Well,” She said, standing beside her wife - which was a spectacle in itself. “I think diplomacy will be an enriching experience for you.” Queen Chrysalis - a Queen only in title and most certainly not in appearance or power - eyed him with a look that implied he was someone she would rather never have to look at again. Yet of course coming from her face it was more amusing than whatever she had intended to begin with. He eyed her back with condescending politeness, a look which he had been cultivating over several years of uncomfortable dinners with people he could not stand. 

“I’m sure you’re already packed and ready, dear, but I would like you to depart with the comfort in my mind that you’re guaranteed to return. Safe and sound.” She turned to Chrysalis, expectant. 

“You shall travel with one of my personal generals. To ensure your safety,” Chrysalis added, begrudgingly. It was not in Blueblood’s plans to travel with a companion, but he very much wanted this conversation to be over, so he forced himself to smile, bow, and reply with “yes your highnesses.” 

The very last thing he expected to do after he left the castle was to go to the port, looking spectacular with his hair styled for the wind of the sea and a stunningly tailored suit, to meet a changeling general who looked annoyingly familiar. 

“Oh,” said the guard, “It’s you.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Blueblood, “Have we met?” They had. He remembered it perfectly fine. But he didn’t want to remember, because the humiliation of an experience he had never in his living memory had to come to terms with was frustrating at best and wildly uncomfortable at worst, so he pretended that he did not. In fact, now it seemed that his travels would be much less refreshing and rather more aggravating. 

In the presence of blueblood’s own radiance, the ship seemed rather plain now. Perhaps the disparity between himself and the dullness of the hull would allow him a moment’s rest from being surrounded by things that glowed and glittered far too much. There was no gold plating, nor silver, nor iron, and there were no diamonds and the shiniest thing around was the changeling’s stupid helmet. 

“We have now. The name’s Pharynx.” 

“Of course, of course. A pleasure old boy.”  _ This _ was one of the Queen’s  _ personal _ royal guards? How thoroughly disappointing. And rude. And loud and uncivilized, and quite honestly repulsive. If Blueblood was going to travel the world he would much rather have done it spending his time looking at beautiful things, like the Notre Dam*, or Equus Tower*.  _ This _ was not  _ that _ . 

“I am-” 

“Prince Blueblood. I know.” 

“Duke. Blueblood. If you please.” 

“Alright,  _ Duke _ . Get on the boat and let’s go. The sooner you get bored ‘seeing the world’ the sooner I can get back home.” He put “seeing the world” in gigantic air-quotes. 

Blueblood fought with himself to maintain his composure. He hated having things assumed about him, irrelevant was the fact that one of his own favorite things to do was assume several outlandish things about other people, and so far as assumptions go, this one was fairly realistic. But he would not give this _creature_ the pleasure of unraveling him, despite the fact that he had never in his _life_ met someone so _crass_ and _undignified_. Without saying a word he boarded the boat to greet the captain, who was _legions_ more respectful. Just as respectful as all the people in Canterlot, just as all people were, and should be. Clearly that _cretin_ had been out of the loop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Notre Dam - Notre Dame; dam being the mother of a horse  
> * Equus Tower - Eifel Tower; Equus being the genus including the horse, donkey, zebra and all other surviving members of the family Equidae


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy howdy this chapter. 
> 
> I hope this chapter is paced ok, even though I realize now there are a lot more breaks and time skips and shit than I thought there were when I was writing it. You guys will let me know if it's alright!

Upon the boat, which Blueblood had purchased with the name _Loshad' slavy,_ moved at a very reasonable pace. Or he assumed that it did, he’d never really been on a long-distance travelvessel before, so he didn’t have a very good metric. As long as it was moving, and they got there when the captain said they would, he had no qualms with his journey. 

Except, of course, for the one. 

“That’s a nice cutie mark you’ve got there.” 

“ _Excuse me?!”_

General Pharynx stared at him as if he had just asked a very reasonable question that required a very particular answer. Which he had most certainly _not._ Why this _insect_ had just asked the only question that it was entirely socially unacceptable to ask a noble person! Which had left Blueblood tracing after the boldness of the statement wondering who in Equestria he thought he was. 

“What’s it mean?” 

_And he didn’t cease!! The utter nerve!!_

“I’m certain that’s _none_ of your business!” 

The sea breeze was starting to push through Blueblood’s coat. In hindsight, wearing his finest shorts on a journey up north was probably not the best idea, but he’d never have fathomed the temperature would drop so quickly. The changeling, from whom Blueblood distinctly revoked the pleasure of being called by name in his thoughts, walked off after Blueblood had the common sense to stand there looking shocked and offended and didn’t answer his question. 

Blueblood didn’t remember a time in his life where he had been so downright insulted. But then he thought about it and he thought he couldn’t remember a time in his life where a lot of things like this had happened. He distinctly remembered hearing second hand from his mother that on one occasion he had run off to play with other foals and gotten pushed into the mud - and come out _laughing_ of all things - when he was too young to remember it, but he distinctly refused to take her word for it.

* * *

General Pharynx had been less dressed for the weather than Blueblood had been, only in that he had refused to take the weather into account at all and worn his full suit of armor - laughable really, as if they were likely to be attacked by a horde a hundred some-what miles off the Amble Coast.* They weren’t even traveling in the most expensive looking boat. As a unit they looked entirely uninteresting.

Blueblood considered staying within the comfortable confines of his cabin below deck for the duration of the trip, before he remembered how easily he tended to contract serious cases of cabin fever, and he hated the idea that wouldn't leave his head that anyone on the ship, including General Stick-Up-His-Ass, would have to see him and those ridiculous bags that would surely form under his eyes so darkly that he wouldn’t have enough concealer packed with him to cover them up. 

He thought this, and had an iron-clad resolve to continue going outside, until one day it happened to start raining, and the one thing he hated more than cabin fever was the smell of wet-coat and ruined hair, even though he had to decide between this and also spending the day indoors with a changeling. Had he not made a promise to himself to absolutely _not_ turn back to Canterlot - a resolve he made purely to spite a certain _someone_ who said that he would - he would have admitted to himself that this trip was a disaster and gone home for a proper shower. 

But, he concluded, after a day of laying in bed across the room from General Pharynx and thinking, he would at least make it to Moscaw.* Then everything would be fine. 

General Pharynx, for the duration of this very slow day, had changed out of his armor, which was an entire experience for everyone who had never seen him without it. And of course he was dressed like a peasant, but it suited him to dress in rags like those. 

“It’s just a tank top and cargo pants, you can stop staring whenever it pleases you, your _majesty_.” 

“I wasn’t. Your sense of style is impeccable. Truly.” 

“Right. Of course. Let me just go drape myself in diamonds. I live to be pleasing for you to look at.” 

“Hmph.” 

They could not get to Moscaw quickly enough.

* * *

After a very long time - weeks and days of realizing that he would have to choose between looking good and being warm the farther north they travelled, and trying to exchange as few words as possible with the very _agreeable_ company that was General Pharynx - they made it to Moscaw. 

And it was essentially all that Blueblood thought it would be. The local attractions were entertaining only for a short while, until they weren’t, and then Blueblood’s automatic instinct was to wait until the sun disappeared and to wait. Where there was money there were wealthy people abusing it to Tartarus and back. It was just that maybe in Moscaw it tasted a little bit different. So he would wait, and then find them in the dark, when it was easiest. 

“Well? What’s on the to-do list? We’re here so you can play diplomat, yeah?” said General Pharynx, who’s presence had almost escaped Blueblood’s mind for a blissful minute or two. The sun had just touched the horizon far in the distance, and he was looking around as if anything that surrounded them was actually interesting to him. 

“Yes,” Blueblood said, making his words very slow. “We were. We met the prime minister, exchanged a few lovely words, and now we’re free to roam about as we please. That means that _you_ can either go back to our hotel, or you can come along with me.” He tried to make it very obvious which choice was the right one. Did he care that General Pharynx knew exactly where he was? No, not particularly. Did he care if General Pharynx was there with him? Yes. Very much. 

“Where exactly are you going?” 

_To do drugs and sleep with mares who don’t speak the same language as me_. “To find a nice place to play cards.” 

“To _gamble_.” 

“That’s an unpleasant word for it.” 

General Pharynx was a very rigid man, Blueblood had noticed in their few weeks or so of knowing each other and their predisposed tendencies to hate each other. He stood tense and stiff as if he would be attacked at any moment, with his arms crossed over his chest. If anybody needed a drink or two, it was most certainly him. Perhaps if he got drunk enough he’d shut up. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to you coming along. Find yourself a nice mare to spend your time with.” 

“Absolutely not. I’m here to do my job. And _you’re_ here on behalf of Equestria.” 

“How astute an observation. I’ll be taking my leave now.” 

“You will _not_. 

“I beg your pardon?”

He had turned to leave before the General had placed himself in front of him. Of all the indignant changeling _flies_ the Queen had chosen to stick him with. It had to be this one. 

“You can’t just go around doing what you do in Canterlot. Maybe you have that whole city under your thumb, but you’re not _in_ Canterlot anymore. You’re here on behalf of your country, and you need to _act_ like it.” 

Duke Vladimir Blueblood did not remember the last time he was spoken to with such blatant disrespect. He wondered vaguely if there was ever such a time since his birth. He was appalled with himself to find that he did not entirely despise it, that with some fiber of his being he found this encounter… refreshing. He preferred not to dwell on this, instead on the fact that he was very, very close to slapping General Pharynx in the face. The tension that held him from doing so was almost suffocating them both. 

“Your _job_ ,” he said, “As I distinctly remember, _General_ , is to keep me _safe_ . And as you can see, I am in my _own_ perfectly capable hands, so if you would _kindly_ remove yourself from my sight, I will be making my way along.” 

A staring match that lasted a strong few seconds occurred, which Blueblood liked to think he won when General Pharynx spit right back in his face, “ _Fine,_ ” and made his way around him in the direction of their hotel. The tension that had been in the air released, like a near-snapped elastic band had stopped being stretched. He let a sigh escape his chest, heavy. 

Clearly, Blueblood was born for diplomacy.

* * *

In one evening Blueblood had gambled away several hundred bits in an astoundingly short amount of time, but won back a very expensive royal necklace, and with it had made his way through the highest quality jewels and garments in the Moscaw jewel industry to land himself a very large, very fancifully cut diamond, with which he could not do anything but use for display. He had returned to his hotel to find a disgruntled General Pharynx looking out on the balcony with a burnt-through cigarette hanging from his mouth. He elected to ignore this and enjoy the jacuzzi for the rest of the evening, after laying his diamond inelegantly among the unfolded clothes that lay beside his bed.

While he lay in the slowly churning water he realized that there was a factor of this trip he had not considered when he realized he would be traveling with another person, and it was that there was a great likelihood he would have to explain to a person he really didn’t like why he didn’t sleep all that much at all. He didn’t really want to have that conversation with someone he _did_ like, much less with General Pearly-eyes. Captain Incapable-of-having-a-good-time. Rigid douchebag. No, Blueblood nearly retched at the idea of sitting down and having a feel-good emotional session of banter. 

Who did he think he was, anyway, telling him what to do. Blueblood was the one in charge here. 

There was shuffling behind the bathroom door, which he assumed was the rigid douchebag himself changing out of his uniform and into whatever he wore to sleep, and as curious as this made Blueblood, he stayed and sunk himself deeper into the jacuzzi jets. It was three in the morning. He would stay in the water until it cooled, then stay in it some more. Then they would leave, off to somewhere else. 

He was not enjoying Moscaw as much as he had hoped to, probably because he had forgotten that Moscaw was griffin country, and he had also forgotten that he was not particularly fond of griffins. Or changelings. 

He closed his eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t fall asleep when he did.

* * *

Ivan Eaplume* III was a distinguished griffin, the only such creature of his kind, and Blueblood found he quite enjoyed his company, as long as he was sufficiently intoxicated, since when he spent enough hours getting drunk with him, he often ended up drenched in golden plated jewelry and in the midst of a discussion about the complexities of the equine experience. 

They lounged for a very large chunk out of the evening in his suite, which offered such a good view of the city that Blueblood could almost see individual griffins flying about just below tenth story windows dressed in rags for the cold. A dragon occasionally entered the room to find them draped grandly across the velvet colored silk furniture and curtains and pillows that were plated with gold studs and ribbon, and to breathe fire into a lamp on the ceiling that glowed dimly, enough for a wave of warmth and comfort to envelop them. Them and the several nameless mares that filled the room with them. 

There was much laughter, most of which was shallow. Fake. Some of which was genuine, only for themselves, never for each other. 

Blueblood popped a bonbon into his mouth. Its fudge center had the sting of hard liquor. The smell of the incense made it taste like jasmine and frankincense and myrrh. His vision was blurred by his drunkenness and the smoke that was floating around the room. The lady on his lap planted a kiss on his cheek, which he didn’t feel at all. Around his neck was a golden chain with a pendant on the end which was weighing him down enough to cause some strain on his neck. He looked very good in it. 

Eaplume said something that Blueblood didn’t entirely catch, and then threw his vile crow head back to laugh about it loudly to himself. He was moving very slowly. Then he started talking about his wealth in stocks around the world, which meant Blueblood could stop listening because he would most definitely not going to stop talking for a good long while now. 

Duke Vladimir Blueblood breathed a sigh of moderate contentedness. He had been hoping for his surroundings here to seem familiar in some way, despite the fact he had never been here. 

“You know,” he said, to the mare on his right, “My mother was from Moscaw.” 

She did not respond. She was also moving slowly, puffing a smoke of something in and out of her mouth. She wasn’t listening. 

He kept talking, in his head and out loud too, probably. 

“She called me ‘Vladimir.’ Appalling name, but it was much more popular when she was young.” Another bonbon. This one tasted like Jack Daniels. “It means ‘renowned prince,’ or some rubbish like that.” Another bonbon. Lavender and vodka. “Rubbish,” he said. Gin and sage. Tequila. Rosemary. Brandy. Cedar. His eyes grew heavy when he reached the red wine. 

He didn’t know who his mother was, but what did that matter. She was gone and he was here, and he was rich. So she had given him a name that suited him. So she had given him a cutie mark that told him _nothing_. Whatever. That was all done now, she was gone, and he was here. And he was rich. Duke Vladimir Blueblood was here, and he was rich.

* * *

The following morning was either very gray, or it only looked that way to Blueblood because the fog of too much incense burning - or perhaps the sting of being high for too many hours - was still in his eyes. Unfortunately enough, this was the same day that his crew was due to depart for their next destination, Coltkata, so he would just have to deal with what was probably a very bad hangover in his private room below deck. It was too humid a day to spend it outside with a martini anyway. 

“I heard you spent the night with Eaplume,” said Pharynx, without a care in the world about whether or not Blueblood actually spent the night _anywhere_. 

Blueblood took a long sip of water. Just water. “And we both had a lovely time without you.” 

“Shove it up your ass.” 

The conversation ended there, because Blueblood decided that it did. He shoved a lot of his clothing into his bag without folding it, except for the garments he had bought in the past day or so that he intended to wear in the following week. The following week, which would consist almost entirely of sea travel, a thought that Blueblood would almost find repulsive if they were not heading in the direction of his most eagerly awaited destination.

Coltkata.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Amble - A general term for a range of four-beat intermediate speed horse gaits that are approximately the speed of a trot or pace but far smoother to ride (Wikipedia). I imagine this is the coast that lines the bay, which has three or four public docks that lead directly into Canterlot for trade and such. 
> 
> * Moscaw - Lop was the one to come up with this one. In this universe, this is some country very similar to Russia, mostly populated by Griffins. 
> 
> * Eaplume - a painfully obvious bird pun, and it sounds more French than Russian, but what the heck, it was perfect for him. I might draw this guy someday.
> 
> * Coltkata - (colt =) a young male horse. I imagine this is a country heavily based on our real-world KOLkata (or just, broadly, India), populated mostly by ponies and second mostly by changelings (mostly unbeknownst to the pony population). In my mind, this place is very close in resemblance to the era of the British East India Company, mixed with some modern metropolitan elements, and they primarily trade fine silks, spices, tea, ivory, and opium (that one is a little bit less legal in Equestria, so Blueblood is fond of it) (here's a link where you can read more about East India: https://www.thoughtco.com/east-india-company-1773314)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueblood and Pharynx deposit themselves in Coltkata to enjoy some very introspective time to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was... experimental? Will y'all let me know if I'm being a bit too conceptual in my storytelling and you'd like to know like.... what's actually happening?? (thank youu). Nevertheless I think I did good with what I had, and I hope the pacing is a little bit better and easier to read. 
> 
> Enjoy these disaster gay horse men (jesus).

The dull ebb and flow of sea travel was starting to grate on Blueblood’s nerves by the third day they spent out on that stupid boat, which he was seriously considering renaming _La Bateau Maudit,_ because he was a very classy and sentimental individual, clearly. The salted water was starting to dig its claws into the gold paint that made the words _Loshad' slavy_ glitter when the sunlight it it in a very particular angle. Which was good, because otherwise it was a very ugly shade of yellow, and Blueblood didn’t fancy himself owning anything he would describe as “ugly.”

“Are you _dead,_ or what??” Said General Pharynx.

Only his head was visible at the top of the doorway, so he was laying across the deck above the cabin to look in to see Blueblood laying out his new clothes across his bed to pick out his “arriving-in-Coltkata” outfit. He decided that it would be very fancy, and very traditional. Which necklace went best with his coat? Diamonds? 

“Do you have a gift for the ambassador?” Said General Pharynx. Again. 

“ _Yes_ , yes.” 

“Great. Gimme so I can pack it.” 

“Nonsense, I’m giving it to him the moment we disembark, _I’ll_ keep it.” 

He didn’t really have a gift. He probably had something lying around that he could use, but if he did have something already prepared, he would have given it to General Pharynx as soon as he had asked for it. He didn’t want to carry more than he had to, especially since he was probably going to be wearing very fine things, and most certainly did not want to soil them. 

There was a glint in the corner of his eye that reminded him that he had bought a diamond in Moscaw that he didn’t have any particular want or need for, and he had found his gift. Some part of him, despite the diamond’s utter uselessness, shivered at the fact that he had to give anything away in order to enter a bloody country, but the thing was lying around doing nothing for the decorum of the room, so he decided he might as well throw it away somewhere. It was a very fine diamond, the ambassador would probably love it. 

Blueblood dressed himself - which was absurd, because usually he was dressed by other people, and he found he had some trouble finding out which part of the elaborate shirt-piece he had chosen was for his head and which was for his arms, and had to take special care not to tear anything with his horn - and exited the cabin into the much warmer air of the seacoast of Coltkata. The shoreline was teeming with shoppers and market stalls and the docks seemed to be crowded, which Blueblood found quite irritating - he would have to walk through all of that to get to his hotel - until he saw that the ambassador, dressed in similarly fine clothes as him, was standing regally on the dock The _Loshad’ slavy_ was to arrive in. Blueblood wrapped his hands around the diamond, which was still cold from the air conditioning in his cabin. It made the air seem much hotter than it was. He refused to sweat in this outfit. 

After he placed the diamond in the ambassador’s hand he could leave, as long as he didn’t talk too much and was so polite that the ambassador didn’t want to speak to him anymore.

* * *

The hotel was significantly less nice than the one in Moscaw, which was to be expected yet was no less disappointing. Moscaw was a modern city. His hotel there had two queen-sized beds, and floor-to-ceiling windows that were adorned with raindrops that had once been snowflakes that made the city below look very glittery and distant and dream-like. This was open. Exposed. There was a room in which the smaller twin beds sat across from each other, placed nicely to match the patterns on the carpet that covered the floor. Outside of this room were others that had three walls at most, and were otherwise adorned with columns and half-walls that allowed for most of the world outside to look inwards. If only they weren’t several stories up, Blueblood would have complained about it, because he did not want several Coltkatan strangers to be able to see him half naked every morning while he drank his martini. 

“Where are you going, we just got here.” 

“The Count Antheus is here to visit,” said Blueblood, suddenly feeling the need to explain himself, which had never happened before. “He is throwing a party this evening, and I intend to be there, fashionably late.” 

“You…. You are a nightmare.” 

“I can’t imagine what you mean.” 

“You can.” 

“I’m leaving, you can come with me, or you can stay.” 

“Or _you_ can stay.” 

“And spend the night with _you?_ I’d rather have the company of the Count Antheus and several beautiful mares, thank you. If you came, I’m sure I could get you a drink for free.”

“Get lost, you fucking hedonist.” 

“With pleasure.” 

The party was a beautifully adorned event, full of unicorns and the occasional earth pony dressed in glittering clothes and very real diamond chandeliers, and a waiting staff that had to be at least fifty strong but who all looked exactly the same. He looked for the punch bowl, a glass of which had a higher alcohol content than three or four beers, and dramatically over-served himself in a whisky glass that was way too small, then travelled into the parlor where there were small swarms of people playing cards for vaguely expensive piles of jewelry and gold. He had nothing to make people gawk at him with, because he’d given his diamond to the ambassador, but he had his money’s worth in poker chips. 

He did not think that perhaps he would win a round just to spite General Pharynx, who was back in their hotel room sleeping like a parasite in the bed closest to the window, which Blueblood had foolishly forgotten to claim before he left. He also did not think that the necklace the mare across from him was stupidly bidding away would look very nice paired with the metal armor General Pharynx was fond of wearing at all hours of the day, and that if only Blueblood’s complexion didn’t clash so horribly with it, he would probably wear something similar. He did think, however, that he would get that necklace anyway, because he would surely have some use for it, and if he didn’t, it was probably far more expensive than the old crone that was betting it away thought it was. If she was stupid enough to give it away, she was stupid enough to loose a very easy game of poker, he thought. 

The evening only got mildly entertaining when the punch started to kick in. He never exchanged beyond a handshake and greeting with Count Antheus, and moved about the party (after winning his necklace) in order to keep things that way. Count Antheus was an absurdly pretentious stallion, and Blueblood didn’t want to stain his perfect hands and coat by throwing meaningless words back and forth with an individual who thought far too highly of himself. 

* * *

The next morning Blueblood thought he was in the mood to spend a lot of money on himself. The evening before, in a very conscious and deliberate drunken stupor, he had discussed the possibility of several favorable trade deals with company executives who had attended Count Antheus’ party, which proved at least the prude was good for something. Today, however, Blueblood wanted something he could hold in his hands, confident now in the fact that as much money as he could spend would all come flying back to him the moment he signed the agreements that were scattered across his hotel room floor. 

“ _What’s to do? Antonio?_ ” He said quietly to himself. General Pharynx was asleep, because it was still six in the morning. Blueblood had arrived an hour and a half ago, and was planning to leave within the next ten minutes, leaving no trace of himself in the hotel room. He rifled through his closet, dressing himself to the melodic lines of Shakespeare. 

“ _Shall we go see the reliques of this town?_ ” 

“Yes.” He said, to himself. “We shall.” He threw some water into his mouth, without touching the glass with his lips once, and opened the door as silently as it allowed him to. His wallet only had a credit card in it, and his credit card had upwards of several thousand bits in it. With which he would make sure when he returned to Equestria, he would be the most well-adorned noble prancing around Canterlot. 

Shopping about managed to remind Blueblood exactly why he adored this country.

Lining market stalls were the finest silks and spices he had ever laid eyes on, mounted in perfectly symmetrical pyramids and filled to their brims with the epitome of vibrance and color. Everything here would be worth far more than it was being sold for if it was being sold in Canterlot, which was only one of two reasons Blueblood found them so beautifully attractive, the other being that he was always attracted to beautiful things. He had been training himself since his youth to know beautiful things when he saw them, and had tried to teach these things to Vogue as she grew, of course without revealing himself… 

He spotted a store that looked familiar, the Coltkatan branch of _Rare n’ Beauty_. It looked air conditioned inside. Perfect. 

He perused the coat section, eager already to head north and travel with his caravan to the Crystal Empire, where he would no doubt be greeted by the Princess herself. Most of them were fairly standard of _Rare n’ Beauty_. Their top designers were always young upstarts who liked to experiment, and so much of their work ended up looking rather more like pieces of art that belonged in a museum rather than the clearance racks. Blueblood shuffled through them without choosing one, but appreciating the thought and care that probably went into each one, which was something he never did. 

He spotted one that looked… simple. Something that clearly wasn’t a new garment, the style was probably sold in almost every department store, with one or two tweaks given the brand. It was plain. Boring. Definitely belonged on the clearance rack. He would never have looked twice at it had it not been for the fact that the color seemed as though it would go fairly well against General Pharynx’s eyes and skin tone, after which he found himself realizing with wretched indignation towards himself that he thought that General Pharynx as an unfortunately attractive creature. 

_Eugh._

He thought back to his daughter, who had plenty of changeling models working for her quaint little organization these days, probably because with them she had no worries if she suddenly became short-staffed or if another model called-in sick, but also probably because there were some changelings in the world -very few and far between, no doubt - that were objectively attractive. 

“Vogue, dear,” he’d said to her, as he often said to everyone. He called everyone ‘dear.’ It was one of those rich-pony things. “Are you sure? Your business could suffer.” 

“It might,” she’d said. They had met perchance when Fleur De Lis just so happened to come across Blueblood in the street while she just so happened to be on her way to Vogue’s store. A very uncomfortable happenstance, to be sure. She had been in the changing room at the time. “It might,” said Vogue again. “But I’m starting an initiative.” 

“Oh?” he’d said. Such nonsense. 

“An inclusivity initiative, if you must know.” The changeling she had just hired had walked past behind her and waved her goodbye with a smile. Her pincers had just barely been visible. 

_Disgusting_ , he’d thought. “Lovely,” he’d said. 

Some changelings were attractive, he thought now. In some way. If you looked at them for a very long time, and thought very hard about it. And to Blueblood’s dismay General Pharynx seemed to be one of those changelings. 

“Lovely,” he said, referring to the coat. He ran his fingers through the simple fur trim along the hood. It had a gap for a horn to pass through. Most _Rare n’ Beauty_ garments did. Along with gaps for wings. 

Well. He had some pearlescent purple eyes that would remind one of some rare gemstone perhaps, and the carapace that covered him glinted red when placed in the correct lighting environment, as red as his hair, almost. And red was not so much an abhorrent color. 

How unfortunate. 

Now if only his personality wasn’t so… like that. 

Blueblood absentmindedly placed the coat on his arm along with the rest of the pieces he had gathered, breaking the trend that dictated each garment be drastically more expensive than the last. And what was more surprising to himself - he paid for it.

* * *

There was an interesting feature to the patio-like rooms in the hotel; there were segments of glass that stood rigid in place of the half-walls that made the rooms a maze to navigate. In the nighttime, they turned black, so that it was impossible to see anything but a silhouette of another pony standing on the other side of you. 

Blueblood pressed his bare back to the glass, feeling its coldness and wondering where on earth in the middle of a hot summer night it had collected it from. He could feel the press of Pharynx’s back through it, even though the glass was just about two inches thick. It felt softer than he thought it would. 

“You ponies,” he said. He sounded tired. As if he was the one awake for hours and hours, and not Blueblood. “I don’t get you.” 

“What’s so hard to understand?” 

“You’re all so soft.”

“Soft?” 

“You,” he said. He sighed. “You spend your life pretending, defacing yourselves, thinking so _highly_ of yourselves. Everything that’s important to you is gilded and pretty and fake. What happens when that fakeness falls away? Then what do you have?” 

Blueblood thought of a year ago. Thought of pink hair and glowing, radiant elegance. Of rejection, and of a strange hatred directed inwardly against his will. A time where he tried his hardest to let the fakeness fall away for somebody else to reveal as true a version of himself as he could muster only to find a locked door and the realization that maybe, just maybe, he’d forgotten exactly how to be _himself_ after being himself for so long. He did not answer Pharynx’s question. It was rhetorical. 

“You’re all the same,” Pharynx said. Blueblood was almost afraid he was going to say something stupid like “when I was a grub...” or to that regard. He did not. Good. Blueblood did not want to hear it. He looked at the bottle of vodka he’d brought with him. He was expecting to want to take a large, bitter swig every few minutes. He’d hardly loosened the cap on the bottle. He tried his hardest to think. This silence was lulling him to sleep. 

“You didn’t tell me Coltkata was a Changeling country,” he said, immediately regretting it. Antheus' party had been full of them, all in disguise, leeching off of the nobles' love of money and drunkenness. 

The press of Pharynx’s back disappeared. Blueblood could hear his footsteps receding. In the distance, paired with the sound of the door to the only room with air conditioning being opened, “You’re all the same, Blue.” 

Blue, he thought. What an ugly color. He much rather preferred red.

* * *

The whole lot of the crew departed with an air of having done a lot of work and still feeling like there was more to be done. Bluebloood, at least, stood on his deck waving away at the grinning ambassador with a few and a half trade deals tucked neatly into his coat pockets below deck. He stopped smiling the very moment he knew he was far enough away that the ambassador couldn’t make out the details of his face. Then, when he knew he was just a dot of a figure on the horizon, he stopped waving and started to move to his cabin. 

He had almost forgotten what the inside of his cabin looked like. It felt a lot smaller than the hotel room. It felt a lot more like the underbelly of a creature than a place. A creature that was taking him around, yanking him from place to place against his will while he tried to understand why it was that every time he bought something somewhere, his wallet felt fuller more than it did emptier, and why every time he stood before the hotel room door he started getting nervous about the fact that maybe the hotel staff had misunderstood the reservation, and when he opened the door there would only be a single queen size bed, and he’d have to sleep on the floor and Pharynx on the couch and neither of them would talk about the bed in the middle of the room, and why at the same time he was afraid of the fact that he wouldn’t even complain for a new room if that happened. He’d be perfectly content sleeping on the floor. 

Pharynx appeared in the door frame before the door could come to its slow, melodramatic close. 

“Here’s your stuff,” he said. “Don’t get comfy. We’ll be docked in town in three days.”

“Turn the light on, I’ve got paperwork to do until we get there.” 

“Paperwork? Seriously? I thought you were on vacation?” 

“Yes, well, I ended up finding work anyway, now turn the light on and excuse yourself.” 

He reached for the light switch instead of the remote control, probably because he didn’t know there was a remote control. Blueblood guessed he didn’t have remote controlled homes wherever it was that Pharynx lived before. In a _hive_. 

“How’s that, your majesty?” Pharynx asked when the lights were about halfway dimmed. Bright enough to see, dim enough not to get a headache from still being the slightest bit hungover. It was perfect. 

“Sufficient. Now get lost.” 

“What’s the paperwork for?” 

_Are you kidding me?_

Pharynx set himself down to half sit on the table that was tucked neatly into the side of the wall. Blueblood pretended to look through the porthole window behind him so that he could look at the pants he was wearing. 

“They’re trade deals.” 

“Sounds legal.” 

“Technically legal. As long as I read them over in excruciating detail.” 

“Need some help?” 

“Not even a little bit.” 

“Suit yourself, Blue.” 

“I will, _Red._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueblood and Pharynx arrive at the beginning of the last leg of their journey. The drama begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets sticky here my friends

There was charming, unnamed town just a day’s travel south of the Crystal Empire that had all the charm and idyllic scenery of a fairytale where the characters all had pale ivory coats and hooves that shimmered the same as the snow that always seemed to be falling from the sky at a moderate, uninterested rate of bliss and plain existence. There was always fresh powder on the ground, always clean. There were houses that embodied perfect architectural simplicity, with dark, richly colored wood and the designs of a different aurora borealis on each and every house’s thatched, curved a-frame. Every house looked warm on the inside. 

In a window, Blueblood saw the trays filled with pastries fresh out of the oven. Above, a sign adorned with painted wood and the etched carving of an Ursa read, “Snow n’ Sweets.”

There were no hotels in this town - it was more of a village really - but there was an Inn, also unnamed, that had quaint single-pony rooms with twin beds and windows that were just large enough to see the street below, just over the flower beds covered in snow on the windowsill. Blueblood took the liberty over himself of making sure that there were two seperate rooms booked at this Inn when they arrived.

Blueblood felt a brief impulse to go outside - not to purchase anything, really - just to be able to stand in the town and absorb its simplicity and peace. It was a far, _far_ cry from what Canterlot was like. In Canterlot, whenever it snowed, it was winter, and the snow that landed on the ground did not last an hour before becoming gray and brown with dirt and grime and the stomping of ponies’ hooves turned the snow into sludge and made it absolutely unbearable to even look down while you walked. Somehow the crowds still got too wrapped up in the excitement of Hearth's Warming Eve to care about how wretched they had made the city really look underneath all the fairy lights and tinsel. 

Then he felt the thump nextdoor of General Pharynx dropping his one bag of clothing on the floor beside his bed. And suddenly he did not feel like going out anymore. He felt like staying here, in this lovely and small room, and doing paperwork. 

Why did that happen? He wondered about it himself. He wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want Pharynx to follow him around all day, like an annoying dog held on a short leash - and perhaps he should probably look into getting Pharynx a muzzle - but if he looked a little bit further inward, which he hated to do, and thought about it for a very long time, it was probably because if he went outside, and saw the sights just to see them, just to be there and breathe clean air and walk knee-deep in the snow, and _Pharynx_ was there with him he would probably never want to return to the inn. And he hated that. So for all intents and purposes he would be staying inside spell-checking probably-legal trade deals. 

A ship was to arrive at the same dock Blueblood’s yacht had arrived at later this week. On that ship would be an entourage of guards, carriages, and mountains of food and expensive goods, which he would stuff in his carriage and the carriages that followed behind him while he and the guards (walking beside the carriages, of course) made their way slowly and comfortably up through the wintry landscape to the Crystal Empire. It would be perfectly lovely and he would spend the whole journey eating fine foods and lying comfortably in his carriage among soft things like blankets and an excess of pillows looking out into the snow through his window. Soft snow falling. Warmth enveloping him. Nothing but luxury. And the carriages that meandered along with him would be filled to the brim with gifts and fancy things that would make the princess swoon over him. Celestia would know of his success as an ambassador. Never doubt him again. 

There was a knock at his door. He knew exactly who it was 

“What,” he said, making sure not to say “come in.” Of course General Pharynx came in anyway. They had not spoken since the cool night - the coolest night Blueblood thought he might have ever experienced yet, even in this frigid weather - in Coltkata, sitting and having uncomfortable conversations in an oddly comfortable way, until Blueblood said something stupid. 

“What is it?” He said again. He had meant to make it sound quite aggressive, but it didn’t quite come out that way. 

“I looked at the map.” 

The map he was referring to was the one on which Blueblood had crudely marked the path they would take to the Crystal Empire. Marked on it was a route that would take them roughly three days, where other routes would likely take them five or six. He fancied his journey through the snow. He didn’t fancy it for longer than he had to.

“And?” 

General Pharynx took a pause between his words, as if he was thinking about what to say, which Blueblood found himself thinking was very unlike him. 

“I think… we should go another way.” 

“What?” 

“The _route_ , I said. You should change it, it’s not safe.” 

“Pardon?” said Blueblood, understanding perfectly what Pharynx was saying and at the same time absolutely not believing him. “And why is that?” 

“It’s just… well, _come on_. You-” 

“ _Yes?”_ Spit it out dammit. 

“You’re a sitting target, Blue.” said Pharynx, obviously frustrated, though Blueblood could not find himself a good reason why. 

There was something that happened to Blueblood whenever Pharynx called him ‘Blue.’ He felt something akin to amputation. That ugly appendage that followed him around, ruining his beautiful hair and his beautiful face and making them all seem very much not worth looking at, very much wrong in some way that made you not want to be close to it anymore, was gone. And he suddenly felt that he was very, very exposed. Ponies would want to look at him now, and see what he really looked like. 

“Oh, calm yourself, we’ll be fine. It’s the fastest route, so we’re taking it.” 

“No, you can’t-- you can’t just-- _argh_ , you just _need_ to reroute, pl--” 

“I don’t _need_ to do _anything_ , and mind your tone. You seem to forget who you’re speaking to.” _What am I saying?_

“Oh, _really_ ? You’re doing _this_ now? Come on, _listen_ to me--” 

“No, _you_ listen.” _Stop, what am I saying??_ “You want to follow the orders your queen gives you like a good little guard dog, _fine_ . If you think it’s so dangerous, then protect me. _That’s_ why you’re here. Don’t bother me with this nonsense because you’re averse to enjoying your miserable life while you’re living it--”

“ _That’s not--”_

“WHAT? IT’S NOT WHAT?” 

Pharynx didn’t even recoil, but Blueblood did. He had never before felt the need to shout. People tended just to listen to him. Pharynx didn’t skip a single beat. 

“YOU WANT TO WALK AROUND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS WITH A BIG SHINY _BULLSEYE_ TAPED TO YOUR FUCKING BACK?! FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE CAN YOU STOP BEING SO PROUD?!?!” 

_NO._ Blueblood’s response was silence. He stood, probably without realizing it, with his chest out and a look on his face that gave him the same feeling as when he looked at his subjects. At the lower people of Canterlot. At a bug he had just stepped on. It was entirely constructed. _I want to stop. Stop it._ But he didn’t know why, so he didn’t. General Pharynx stood, angry still and not even bothering to hide it. He had nothing more to say, and it showed, so he just stood there until the carpet under his feet was burning and burning and then stomped off in his awfully loud combat boots and slammed the door with such force Blueblood thought the hinges would fall off. 

He didn’t walk back to his own room - Blueblood could tell because the walls were thin and Pharynx was walking very, very loudly - but in the direction of the exit, outside, which only made Blueblood want to stay in more. If there was an inside to the inside of the inn, he’d want to be there, huddled up and drinking hot cocoa imported from Coltkata and not thinking about anything. He was suddenly very, very tired. 

His carriage would be arriving the next day. He would pay the innkeeper for all the nights he planned to stay, and leave as soon as possible.

* * *

Blueblood’s carriage was a classic baroque-style karoce, with swirling flourishes of gold and silver and several real gemstones engraved in strategic places to form flowers and lyres and dancing ponies set into a dark mahogany that had darker patterns painted into it. The depth of the artwork that covered the cart was extraordinary, so that Blueblood had to take a moment before he stepped in to circle it and admire the gemstones and their presence. He admired on until General Pharynx stepped out of the inn with his coat on and zipped over his head just behind his horn. The fin that made up his mane had been hastily shoved underneath the fur of the coat. Blueblood found he didn’t quite look the same without it, and then found that at some point he had stopped admiring the carriage and started admiring Pharynx, so he climbed into the coach with such speed his foot almost slipped through the step and his head almost slammed against the top of the short doorframe. 

It was a carriage made for lying down in, and so there were no seats inside, but several cushions and blankets adorned with fringes and bright warm colors, looking terribly reminiscent of Eaplume’s living room. There was a stick of incense burning near the window, which was not openable. Blueblood laid himself down gracefully on the mattress, even though nobody from the outside was looking in and there was no need for him to look graceful doing anything, but he felt the need to do so as a generally unfiltered promise to himself to always feel he looked his best, even when there was no purpose to it. 

Vaguely out of the corner of his eye, he saw the snow capped trees start to blur as the stallions that pulled his carriage began to pick up their walking pace. He reached into the compartment that jutted out from the wall and doubled as a table to bring out a small bag of wildly colored candies he had shipped along behind him from Coltkata. Each one supposedly tasted of something different, and were meant to make you feel like you could set the sky on fire, but when he popped one into his mouth he found he didn’t quite feel the effect. Oh well, he figured. Behind him there were several other carriages, all much heavier than this one, all filled to the brim with other interesting things he’d get to try along his journey, all without once stepping out into the snow. 

He sunk deeper into his matress of pillows, feeling it’s warmth wrap around him and only half-wishing it was really someone else, and half wishing it wasn’t so soft it was making him want to fall asleep. 

He had recently discovered warmth. Didn’t quite realize he had been missing it for most of his life, but there was a moment - and he had forgotten quite when, exactly - in which he discovered that being warm actually quite suited him, and that suddenly in his quest to be warm all the time, he found himself being cold all the time. And it wasn’t the same kind of cold as before. It was a much deeper, in-his-bones kind of cold that made him think, _I’ve been colder than this before, why am I shaking so much?_ And when he found the warmth again, he wanted to stay there forever with his eyes closed and his breathing steady. 

Unrealistic dreams, of course.

The forest outside passed by. There was no snow falling from the sky in a calm, relaxed manner as he had hoped, expected really. He could hear the sound of the powder on the ground being crushed and compacted under the pressure of the wheels of the carriage. Or perhaps it was the sound of the same but under the hooves of his entourage, all outside in the cold, and all perfectly finely provided for in this weather, as Blueblood had begrudgingly ensured. 

He thought of someone. 

Whatever. He wasn’t going to use that drab old coat himself anyway.

* * *

Pharynx was cold. 

He was cold, goddammit and there was nothing he could do, because you know what? He absolutely fucking refused to pull the stupid coat any closer over his stupid cold chest. The very same chest that made his heart drop to his hands a whole lot lately, for no reason at all, honestly. 

Maybe he wasn’t so cold, but his hands were. His fingertips were starting to get numb and his bruised knuckles were starting to crack and bleed from how dry they were, and his nose and cheeks were almost definitely turning green. He tried not to let his teeth chatter, because he would almost definitely bite his cheek with his way-too-sharp incisors and start bleeding everywhere. His body was not built for the cold, he was already cold-blooded. And of course, Blueblood didn’t care. 

But why did _Pharynx_ care? He hesitated before reluctantly dragging the coat he was wearing closer to his skin by the fabric on the arms and pulling at the drawstrings that made the fur hood conform around the carapace on the back of his skull. Apparently carapace was not enough to shield from minus twenty weather. Why did he care, anyway? Because it was his job? No, he’d cared about his job before and this was not that. He knew what it was like to enjoy what you were doing. This was not that. He didn’t enjoy this, whatever _this_ was. This gross feeling in his chest, like nervousness for something that was coming that consistently never came. The need he’d always had, a need to protect - a thing that had been with him since he was a stupid little larvae - was like a siren in his head. 

He looked to the carriage beside him being drawn by four very tired looking stallions. He tried to look through the small window at its side, but the light of the day didn’t let him. It was such a frivolous, unnecessary thing, but the pictures on the side were nice. He noticed there were several ponies with pearly white coats and milky blond manes painted dancing around the base of the carriage, just below the golden trim. 

He thought of someone. 

He looked around to see the other guards that were trailing along in a very sloppy formation around the carriages. They were all wearing the same thing. A coat that was functionally warm, incredibly simple, probably something Blueblood would not even look at twice. They all looked miserable. Their boots were probably beginning to soak through. Pharynx noticed one had a charm tied around his neck, and clutched it tightly to his chest, before he dropped it and spent several minutes falling behind the entourage looking for it in the snow. He felt a pang of jealousy, not because he wanted to trudging around in the snow to look for something, but because he wanted to have something that was worth doing that for. Someone, perhaps. Someone who only really cared about money, and shiny things, and beautiful ponies, none of which Pharynx was.

His coat, he noticed, was different than the others’. It had more fur along the trim. And wasn’t such a dull color. His was a more purposeful shade of green, with purple satin - he discovered upon closer inspection - lining the insides of his pockets. It didn’t do much good for warmth, really, but it was… pretty, he supposed. Not that it mattered. Pharynx didn’t know where Blueblood had gotten the coats to clothe the rest of his guards with, but he’d probably gotten tired of counting and thrown away one of his own to give to Pharynx instead. Inconsiderate ass that he was. 

He felt at a loss for what to think, so he started looking at the trees instead.

* * *

After a while, and it wasn’t that long at all really, the scenery started to repeat itself, and Pharynx was getting very tired of seeing tree after tree covered in a layer of snow that looked exactly the same. The snow glittered in a way that reminded Pharynx of the diamond Blueblood gave away like it was a wad of crumpled up paper, and that sort of made him wish he could stop looking at it. But it was snow. It was everywhere. 

“It’s getting dark,” said Eclipse, another guard that had been trudging on minding his own business until he noticed the sun dipping in the horizon, at which point every guard in the audible vicinity turned their head towards it, as if it was the last chance any of them would have to see the sun again. _Celestia, have mercy_ , thought Pharynx. _It’s getting dark_. 

They were so deep into the woods now that Pharynx was almost hoping for the stars to appear to give them some direction, even though they had not changed course once in the hours that passed by while they walked. But now that the sun was actually disappearing, he regretted ever hoping for something so stupid. _Come back_ , he cried in his head, for mercy, for salvation. For someone other than himself. _Please, come back_. The sun paid him no mind and disappeared in the same amount of time to make Pharynx worry that he might not be so nervous now if he had never met Blueblood before. 

The thought made him ridiculously angry with himself, because of course it did. His irrational need to protect, that need that had been with him since birth, since before birth, since the stars aligned on the day that his very genetic sequence was put together by the fabric of the universe, this was where he projected it? To a smarmy, rich douchebag who could give two shits about whether he stayed alive to tell the tale of how he saved his life? Pharynx hated everything. The thoughts in his head. The snow on the ground. Perhaps he could bury himself in it and wait for hypothermia to crawl under the carapace and into his skin. 

They all turned their heads towards the distant sound of a timberwolf. Far too distant to be dangerous. Far too close to let any of them get comfortable. Except, of course, for Blueblood, who was lounging about in his carriage, probably without a care in the world, eating fucking bonbons. 

It was when they came over a frozen bank that Pharynx began to feel there was something very, very wrong. 

He counted. One. Two. Five. Ten. Twelve. 

He listened. Thirteen. Fifteen. 

There were far too many footsteps in the snow. 

With a wave of his hand - which he had almost hesitated to give, because for a moment he had forgotten that he was the general of this mission - the carriages stopped. He prayed to Celestia Blueblood was asleep. 

The sound of footsteps was gone. Pharynx removed his sword from its sheath with the presicion and patience of fucking monk, thank you very much. But his hands were shaking. Violently. From the cold. And because Blueblood was in the carriage next to him, asleep. He pulled out his sword from its sheath and he held it there, in the air. Waiting.

It all happened at once, in an instant. One very loud instant. Two timberwolves came first, jumping with a height that only trained wolves could possibly achieve, and spraying the blood of two guards that were caught unawares. Pharynx did not look at them. 

Next came several stallions that were many, many sizes bigger than Pharynx, all looking exactly like what a rich person would expect a bandit to look like. One was practically naked, considering the weather. The others wore parkas and boots that made melted snow slide right off. They moved quickly, surrounding the carriages. Pharynx moved to bark out orders, just the way he used to, but found that for an unspecified reason, his voice wouldn’t go. Arrows began to fly. Spears clashed loudly against trees and ground. Something came flying to dig itself deep into the ground, acting as a break for the wheel of a carriage. 

Out of the corners of his eyes, Pharynx saw guards reaching for carriages and trying to make a run for it. All just as well, but what he found he was rooted directly to the spot. He was already swinging his sword more with a heavily trained reckless abandon than an amateur one, landing hits here and there. 

This was until he realized that the carriage that was stuck in its place, with the two stallions to pull it having fled somewhere into the woods. Was the one Blueblood was in. There were bandits sprinting towards it, tearing off jewels violently, with their hands, teeth, anything. They scraped gold off of the crowning. Rocked the carriage until they could hear its contents falling from one side to another inside. Pharynx heard the sound of glass shattering a second before the glass actually shattered. But he saw the fist. He saw the flying shards. He saw the look of excitement on the stallion’s face that he was probably about to become very rich. Pharynx changed his hand position and launched his sword as violently as he was able straight into the commotion. He heard shouts, cries, wicked laughter. 

He thought of someone. 

His feet finally found the strength to move when he saw blood spray into the carriage through the broken window, not knowing whose exactly it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueblood calls for Pharynx's help, and the aftermath leaves them in a very precarious situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I have a lot of things. Wow.   
> First of all, This chapter is real early this week, since I was SUPER late Last week, so sorry about that. Second, I went back and read the last chapter, and since I ended up really not liking it because it was a little bit rushed, I severely over-edited this chapter to compensate, so I hope that's a fair trade to y'all who thought the same thing about last chapter, sorry again lol.   
> I put this info up on my tumblr (boop: trashratsaws.tumblr.com) but I should probably clarify that this fic takes place in an antrho universe, not pony and not human. I use the word pony to refer to the species, but they're all on two legs and clothed for the most part.   
> That being sAID, I will be posting some scene sketches on my tumblr anon, so if you want to see what some of the scenes look like in my head, stick around for those in the near future (like, later today) 
> 
> Sorry for the long intro, ENJOY THE CHAPTER

By the time Blueblood had even begun to understand what was happening, his carriage was knocked flat on its side, and he had banged his head against a particularly sharp-feeling alcove of jutted-out gold leafage. He fell just left of the window that made contact with the ground and shattered immediately on impact, sending glass flying everywhere within the carriage. He felt several pieces cut up his coat and skin as they flew. 

Within the millisecond, several bandits were upon him, crawling in through the broken window and door that now faced up toward the dark sky, reaching into every nook and cranny and shoving their hands into wherever they thought they might have seen something golden or expensive. One reached for Blueblood’s necklace, and that was all it took for the whole lot of them to begin shoving their hands all over him, in barbaric attempts to rip off his jewelry, his clothes, his ring, his hair. One yanked at his horn. One grabbed him by the arm. They weren’t speaking Equish, but they were shouting things back and forth at each other.

“LET GO!” He tried to shout over their laughter and brutish commotion. “LET ME GO!!” 

His head was yanked this way and that by his hair. He felt the fabric of his shirt tearing on his back as another grabbed it from his chest and pulled to get the diamonds off. It had been sheer, so it didn’t do much to keep him warm anyway, but now that the window had been broken open and the cold air was rushing in-- he didn’t have a second to stop and remember that it was his favorite shirt and that he just wanted to escape. His legs were being held down. He couldn’t move, couldn’t kick. One was trying to put a hand over his mouth. 

_ HELP!  _ Was what he had meant to say. It was sort of what he said. Before the bandit was able to mute him, probably drug him, Blueblood managed to cry, “ _ PHARYNX _ !” 

He didn’t like that it was a cry rather than a valiant and brave call for help. In fact he was really about to  _ really _ cry. Probably because he tried to bite the bandit’s hand and the taste was absolutely disgusting, but also because he was half naked and there were hands - upwards of twelve or fourteen hands - all pressed all over him, and now a hand was over his mouth and he couldn’t--  _ couldn’t breathe. _

But nevertheless, Pharynx appeared, sword brandished, eyes ablaze like nobody’s business, looking like the general he was supposed to, really, so Blueblood did not know why he found himself surprised. And the moment his tail and legs were free, he scrambled violently towards a corner, cutting his hands on glass as he cowered, watching from the inside of his overturned carriage, which was rapidly losing heat through the broken window, as Pharynx sent his sword flying through the shoulders of two bandits with one swift thrust. It appalled him to look at, because of the blood. But he looked anyway. He heard the  _ crack _ of a skull breaking after a roundhouse kick to the mouth for another bandit from Pharynx, who was looking spectacularly furious. 

The bigger stallions were trying to throw very aggressive, yet very untrained punches in Pharynx’s direction, before they seemed to realize that even at 5’7”, Pharynx was just about prepared to kill them all with his bare hands. Satisfied as they could be with their loot, which was - to be fair - most of what Blueblood’s entourage was carrying, they began to run off. Blueblood didn’t have room in his mind to feel sorrow at seeing bags and bags of gold and exotics being carried off by bleeding thieves. He sat cowering, afraid - of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but afraid nonetheless - shaking like a bloody newborn foal. His arms were crossed over his chest, his hands on his forearms, his fingers  _ digging _ into his shoulders. Most of his clothes were gone. Most of his possessions -  _ all _ of his possessions -  _ gone. _ But… but he was  _ alive _ . 

“ _ Pharynx- _ '' he said, without meaning to. His voice did not remind him of himself. He was a different person. Smaller. He moved, finally, quaking now both from fear and from cold - he was shirtless in minus twenty weather, for Celestia’s sake - to crawl out of the carriage. Pharynx was looking at him like he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, or what was supposed to happen now. And also with a bitter look of “I told you so” that made Blueblood want to cry a little bit. The trees around them started to whisper. The snow fell from the branches with every gust of wind that made Blueblood shrink into himself more. The cold was biting through his coat. His hair was a mess.  _ What must this look like to you? _

He dared to turn his head, a split second upon which Pharynx sped to remove his hand from over his bleeding wound - which Blueblood only just realized he had - to cover Blueblood’s eyes. 

“ _ DON’T look!”  _ he said. Blueblood had already seen. 

“HHHhhh…. Hhhah… is- is that-” 

“No, Blue, I said don’t look.” 

His hand remained over his eyes. There was blood on it, but Blueblood did not for a second move to get rid of it. Beyond that hand were the bodies of two of his guards. They were not breathing. 

“I... _ I can’t _ ,  _ I _ …. we’re… we’re dead, we’re--” 

“Shut up. We have to go.” 

“Wh-” 

Pharynx was already walking. In the very opposite direction of the disaster behind himin which Blueblood wanted to stay. He wasn’t ready to follow, he had to get his things… But his things were all gone. But he had to… he still had to… 

A small gust of wind threatened to tip him over into the snow. He couldn't feel his body heat anymore, not so much. He followed Pharynx, wordlessly, beginning to fear he would freeze to death before he had the chance to catch up to him.

* * *

Pharynx had started a fire. Blueblood hadn’t been paying attention the entire time. 

He was working very hard on preventing his mind from returning to the carriage, having all of his clothes ripped off and his hair pulled and his legs held down until he could only call for help. And from returning to the moments after, in which he had seen the bodies in the snow, looking morbidly calm still gripping their sword and spear. And he wasn’t doing a very good job, really. 

He looked into the flames, which were dancing very gracefully, and was relieved that he could still now see the concept of grace, only the slightest bit miffed that it was in a log fire that he found such a concept laying there waiting for him to understand himself comfortably again. He had been trying for several hours  _ not _ to think and now was thanking the stars that he was able to remember how to  _ think _ properly again.  _ What happened? _ He thought. He missed thinking quite a bit. But now he was also scared. He wanted to think, and he didn’t. It was all very confusing. 

He made out the vague shape of a pony dancing vibrantly in the flames. He almost thought there could be flute music to go along with it. Or soft violin perhaps. Something in a minor chord, that could probably lull him away to sleep. His eyelids were already hanging heavy without the light of the fire to draw him deeper into fatigue. The flames of the pony’s hands lapped at the air like it was reaching for something. He could almost feel the bags under his eyes, which for the entirety of his trip he had tried so hard to cover.  _ What happened? _

Pharynx was lying just beside him, a single instant farther away from the light of the fire. He was sitting on a log while Blueblood sat on the ground, taking turns with his hands between warming them over the fire and using them to draw Pharynx’s coat closer over his shoulders. He almost felt embarrassed to do so, given that he hadn’t even wanted to take it in the first place.

“Don’t touch me,” he’d said, acting like a petulant child. It donned on him that he probably acted that way quite a lot, and had simply never noticed. 

“You’re shirtless in below zero, you fucking moron, just put the coat on.” 

“... I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing,” Blueblood said, already reaching for the coat. It was most certainly not his color. 

“You’d be caught dead without it. Just put it on.” 

He hadn’t zipped it up, hadn’t even put his arms in the sleeves. Just draped it over his shoulders and sat there with his frozen hands shoved under his arms until the fire started up.

He looked into the flames again. He saw another pony, joining the first in a haunting bit of partnered dance. They bowed to each other and held their palms together and spun and spun until Blueblood got dizzy watching them. He was appalled to find when he came back to himself after looking into the fire for so long that tears had begun streaming down his face without his knowledge or consent. The ponies continued to dance by themselves with each other to the flute music in his head. 

He felt Pharynx stir behind him and suddenly realized that he probably looked ridiculous. Maybe a little bit insane. Of course he was crying. Of course  _ now _ he was making a fool of himself. He leaned over until his face was close enough to the ground that his falling tears didn’t get cold enough not to melt little holes in the snow. At least he had trained himself since birth to cry quietly. He wasn’t a pretty crier, but at least he was a silent one. 

“Do you remember,” he said. “That night in Coltkata-” he said.  _ What am I saying. _

“Hm?” said Pharynx, who had heard perfectly, even though Blueblood’s voice was coming out mangled and raspy, like it had been put through a wood chipper six or seven times. “Yeah.” he said. “Yeah, I remember.” 

“And you remember what you said?” 

_ Everything that’s important to you is gilded and pretty and fake. What happens when that fakeness falls away? Then what do you have? _

“I guess…” Pharynx lifted his hand to look at his injury. It was starting to look quite disgusting. “You’re thinking about the wrong things here, Blue.” 

_ Sorry _ .  _ I’m sorry.  _

“Your arm.” 

Blueblood had not taken the time to notice properly earlier, because the  _ idiot _ had taken the time to worry about  _ Blueblood _ instead of himself, but Pharynx’s blood was green. He didn’t quite know what to add to that, other than it was a beautiful contrasting color to the purple of his eyes. If only he wasn’t first seeing it under such an unfortunate circumstance. He looked down at the simple fabric that made up his pants. Probably the only reason the bandits had not ripped them off along with the rest of his clothes. They didn’t look all that expensive, and Blueblood couldn’t bring himself to bother to remember if they really were before he tore strips from them from the base upwards and reached over to Pharynx’s arm. 

“Whoah,” said Pharynx, not opposed, just surprised. Blueblood’s body was moving without him thinking about it, which was exceptionally strange, because he always thought very hard about everything he did all the time. “Didn’t think you were capable of ruining clothes.” he leaned away from Blueblood’s reach when he said this. 

“Shuttup, you overgrown insect.” Blueblood was surprised that he did not mean this maliciously, and neither did Pharynx seem to take it that way. 

“Hey, come on, this is so ridiculous,” said Pharynx, passively watching Blueblood take handfuls of snow and melt them in his hands so he could wet the rags slightly, then placed it over the fire again, so they’d be warm. It wasn’t the cleanest, so another rag, he saved to clean out the blood and grime with. Pharynx was squirming around like he didn’t want to be touched. Probably because he didn’t. 

“Hold  _ still _ .” 

“This… This is stupid you know,” said Pharynx. He held out his arm with reluctance. “Changelings are tougher than you prissy ponies.” 

“Perhaps,” said Blueblood. He refused to make eye contact. He was going to focus on this wound and then it would be done and then they wouldn’t have to touch again. “But I won’t be the one to tell Chrysalis her best general died of infection because he was too stubborn to wash out his wounds.” Blueblood wrapped the rags around Pharynx’s arm tightly enough that the bleeding would stop, but not enough to hurt. “Besides,” he said. “You saved my life.” 

“... Best general?” 

Ah. He hadn’t quite meant to say that. 

“Well… well you know. An alright one.”

* * *

Pharynx wanted to throw himself face-first into the fire. 

What the hell was this?! This… this?!?! 

“Hold still, damit, I’m almost done.” 

“Mng.” 

Every few seconds, Blueblood would have to sort of hug his arm to get the fabric around so that he could wrap it properly. And to distract himself from what was actually happening, Pharynx remarked internally that he was doing a surprisingly good job of it. It was evenly pressured, sufficiently cleaned considering the resources they had on hand - i.e none. He took a look at Blueblood’s leg. His cutie mark was just visible under the pants leg that was now fraying like crazy since he’d torn it to shreds. It was lower down on his flank than most cutie marks he’d seen, but to be fair, he’d seen very few. Changelings didn’t have cutie marks. 

“Thats… that’s a nice cutie mark you’ve got there.” 

“Excuse me?” said Blueblood, sounding a lot less like he wanted to strangle Pharynx than the first time he had said it. More just… incredulous that he would ask again. 

“What. Uh. What’s it mean?” 

Blueblood tied the knot to hold the fabric down on the underside of Pharynx’s arm while he thought of what to say back to him, making Pharynx think that he had actually managed to say something that wouldn’t end in argument. It also meant that Blueblood had to spend a second or two longer sitting with his two arms wrapped around Pharynx’s in order to tie the know firmly enough that it wouldn’t fall off. 

Ponies… really were that soft, huh? It was no wonder they were so delicate. 

“It’s an adventurer’s mark,” said Blueblood, very plainly.  _ Adventurer’s? _

“Oh yeah? And where did  _ that _ go?” 

“Oh hush.” Blueblood settled himself closer to the log, which was a little farther from the fire, so he started to shiver a bit. Pharynx wanted him desperately to put his arms into the sleeves of the coat he’d handed him. “It’s a useless old thing.” 

“How come?” At this distance, the fire and Pharynx’s long sleeved shirt was having him just fine in the cold, but that was because his carapace was an insulator. Blueblood didn’t have any.  _ Just put the coat on properly _ . Pharynx tried his best to move the log closer to the fire without Blueblood noticing. 

“It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“You just told me what it means.” 

“I said it was an ‘adventurer’s cutie mark’. That doesn’t mean I know what to do with it.” He pulled the coat tighter over his shoulders again. As if it was just his shoulders that were cold and not his hands or arms or heart. “I’m obviously not an adventurer. It’s useless. I don’t even remember what I was doing when I got it, you see?” Pharynx got the idea that Blueblood was lying about some part of that, but he was also in no mood to stir something up that might make Blueblood remember that he hated him more than he hated  _ not  _ drinking. 

Pharynx took a glance at his wound. There were green patches starting to show. Obviously rich-pony pants weren’t the best binding material. But it was holding up and it looked almost perfect. 

“Well. You patched me up ok. Maybe you’re just too far up on your high horse all the time to go on real adventures-- Hey!” Blueblood smacked him with the back of his hand. Not hard. Just. Presently. Aware. Pharynx didn’t hate it. He hated that he didn’t hate it. He hated that he sort of wanted Blueblood’s arms around his again.  _ Ponies were warm, what could you do?! _ He laid himself down across the log so that his head and Blueblood’s were at the same level. So that Blueblood was talking to him. Not up at him. He pushed the sleeves of the coat over Blueblood’s shoulders so the stubborn ass would get his damn arms in. He obliged without complaints. 

“Unlikely. I’m telling you, it's useless. And now we’re out in the middle of nowhere, probably waiting to starve to death, so I would say the uselessness of my cutie mark is rather irrelevant.” 

“Some vacation huh?” 

“Some vacation.” Blueblood was half asleep, which was probably why he didn’t bother smacking him again. He curled himself up in the coat, with his arms out of the sleeves again, and pulled the hood over to the place behind his horn. And now that he was looking at it, unicorn horns looked much, much softer than Changeling ones. Like velvet. 

“G’night, Blue.”

He was already practically asleep. “Mn. Red.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueblood and Pharynx work some much needed-to-be-worked-out shit, whilst they attempt to make their way back to civilization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE IN THE HOME STRETCH, PEOPLE 
> 
> This chapter is a little bit, little bit late, so I apologize for that, feel free to stone me, I have no excuse. 
> 
> This is technically the end, BUT there will be a PROLOGUE after this detailing what happens when the two reach the crystal empire, and then return swiftly to Canterlot. There won't be much conflict or development of any kind, just tying up some loose ends, which is why the end is technically this chapter, but I hope you enjoy both of the things! 
> 
> The prologue will be up either later today or at some point later this week, at the latest
> 
> Enjoy!!

Blueblood awoke to the revolting feeling of being sober, and far,  _ far _ too close to Pharynx, who was still busy sleeping on a log. 

He was appalled to find that he could clearly remember the events that transpired roughly eight hours ago, because it had been a solid few hours before  _ that _ since he had been steadily consuming copious amounts of alcohol. His skin was starting to itch from it, in fact, and he ignored it, because the itch had at some point in his life become the only reason he continued to drink. 

The fire before him was now no longer a fire. Just a smoldering heap of wood on the ground that had cleared away a good patch of snow. He sort of missed the dancing ponies and the flute music. Now the world was a little stiller, and quieter. 

Something stirred behind him in the midst of his poor attempts to stand. Pharynx.  _ Dammit _ . 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

It was a fair question. Where did Blueblood think he was going, exactly? So far, it was unclear. Did he think he could walk away from this the same way he walked away every morning from every mare he ever slept with before she woke up? Did he think he would round the next tree and find himself in the Crystal Empire, ready to catch the next train home? No. Of course not. That would make him stupid. 

“Sit down, I got you something.” 

“I don’t need anything from you,” said Blueblood, regretting it immediately afterwards. He thought before he said it that perhaps he’d have the excuse of feeling so, horrendously  _ wrong _ about everything, which would give him some leeway to act like a bit of an ass. But unfortunately he just sounded like an ass. Especially after having slept against a  _ log _ . Like a common  _ insect _ . Which might make Pharynx think he probably had more grace to speak to him the same way he would speak to somebody in his disgusting hive and… Blueblood felt a little bad for thinking so. 

“Yeah yeah,” said Pharynx. “You actually slept today.” 

_ What? _ !

“What, you think I didn’t notice? Please. Here.” He handed him… well it looked like a rock. He handed him a bloody rock. It was lighter than it looked. 

“Wow. Thank you. For this,” Blueblood said, with a face that said he very much did not want this rock he had just been handed. It was a very round, not very smooth rock, which he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with now that it was in his hands. 

“Crack it open, smartass.” 

“Crack it…  _ what _ ?” 

Pharynx rolled his eyes. Blueblood noticed because he was so close. Otherwise, Pharynx’s pupils tended to disappear into the rest of his eye, since they were so close in color. A very, very pretty violet color. And he rolled them at Blueblood a lot. Blueblood though the way the light shifted on them when he did was something akin to a glossed mosaic. They glittered, but not in the tacky way.

Pharynx took the rock in his hands and, holding it up to his head, rammed it aggressively onto his horn, puncturing a hole in it and making Blueblood think he was trying to give himself a bloody injury. And then he noticed that the rock really wasn't a rock - obviously, he didn’t quite know why he thought it was - but some kind of fruit, spewing a watery-looking liquid from the new hole Pharynx had just ungracefully punctured. It was all over his forehead, of course, because the oaf had just rammed his horn onto it. He handed the fruit back to Blueblood. 

“Drink.” 

“ _ What?!”  _

“It’s a cavern fruit, drink it.” 

Blueblood, for the record, had never in his life been handed a  _ rock _ and been told to drink from it. The simplest thing he had drunken anything out of past the age of twenty was a crystal whiskey glass without anything engraved on it. And now he was drinking. Out of. A rock. Good grief. What would his mother think of him now. Probably that he had squandered a good few months galumphing about like a hooligan delinquent and that this was all his fault, no doubt. His fault that he was drinking out of a rock. And lost in the woods with no food or direction. Lucky to ever see a paved road again. 

“You,” said Blueblood, very afraid. “You noticed that…” 

“That you don’t sleep? Of course I noticed.” 

Dammit, was he that easy to read? Or was it just that Pharynx had some strange supersense from being raised in a hive of several thousand other changelings that - what, could they read each other's minds or something?

“Don’t know why though.”

Oh thank Celestia. 

There was a silence, during which Blueblood desperately hoped Pharynx would not ask why - hoping to death, probably because if he did ask, he’d tell him without hesitation - and during which he assumed Pharynx was deciding whether or not he should ask why. It was a very painful few seconds. Minutes perhaps. Who knew, really. 

“So… how’s the fruit?” Good. 

“Better than coffee.” 

“Hah. Right.” 

“And also. All over your horn.” 

“What?” 

He didn’t even notice. It was bound to get in his eyes at some point. 

“Come. Let me.” 

When he became alright with stooping to such a level as cleaning up after  _ somebody else _ when it was usually the other way around, he wasn’t quite sure, but there he was, cleaning Pharynx’s forehead - steering  _ far too clear _ of his horn - with his hands, and cleaning his own hands in the snow. The cavernfruit water was sticky, despite looking basically like water. And tasting like a refreshing morning in Southern Prance*. 

“Look this way.” He was facing down, and away, thought Blueblood could probably understand why. Everything felt very wrong at the moment. It had been feeling wrong since he woke up, and felt like it would continue feeling that way. They should be doing something right now, he was unsure what. But whatever. In the middle of the woods, lost and very cold, there were very little obligations to fill before it was time to do something else. It was never “time” to do anything out here. Just exist and probably find food, at some point, maybe. That seemed a little bit less important that this though. Right now, anyway. 

“Red, look this way,” said Blueblood, vaguely realizing he had let “Red” slip without noticing and deciding to gloss over it swiftly before one of them went and made it a big deal when it wasn’t. 

“Jeez. I can do this myself.” 

“Yes, but you’re not. I’m doing it. So just sit there and  _ look up _ .” 

There was a tension in the air that Blueblood was acutely aware of and also acutely made the wrong feeling in his chest feel more wrong. Whatever this was, he felt like it was going to snap soon. He was very nervous about it. He didn’t like  _ impending _ things. This was very impending. He started to take a little bit less care around Pharnx’s horn. Drifting around in his head, his thoughts. Minding his own business while also thoroughly not.

“Blue, you’re seriously- _ yyyy!!! _ Woah,  _ Blue, watch the hands _ . You’re being real touchy lately-” 

“Would you  _ just! _ ” said Blueblood, removing his hands, and swiftly removing himself, from Pharynx’s general vicinity. He was on his feet now, which were wobbly because he’d just been sitting on his legs, but there he was, standing. And wobbling. And about to start shouting. “Shut it!” There. There it was, the shouting. Even thought this forest was the most open place he’d been in ages, he felt more claustrophobic than he’d ever felt in his life. This reminded him of something. An event. No, a series of events. Dammit, the wall of whiskey and mares wasn’t there anymore. He could see that series of events so clearly. What was it about this one stallion that made him want to think clearly? His stupid sincerity? His stupid eyes? 

“Woah, Blue -”

“Shut it! You don’t get to just-! You don’t get to do this to me, alright?!”

“What- do  _ what? _ ” 

“ _ You don’t get to make me question everything I’ve ever known, ever been TAUGHT, since the very singular moment I GOT this stupid mark, ALRIGHT?”  _

“Blue-” 

“ _ And STOP calling me that!! I’m not supposed to know you! We’re not supposed to be friends! We’re not! _ ” 

“ _ ACCORDING TO WHO, BLUE? Look around! We’re in the middle of the woods, and you’re shirtless and it’s below freezing, and I’m one of Canterlot’s best generals and yet we’re still days away from civilization, NONE of this is SUPPOSED to be anything!!!” _

Blueblood wanted to say something back, but everything that Pharynx said made so much sense to him, and his mind that had been awake for roughly a week straight before last night, that he couldn’t find a single thing that made much sense. 

“I- you-”

“Just-! Look at me, right? Look at me. What you were taught, since the very singular moment you got that mark - right? - all of that is fucking useless.” 

“What?” 

Pharynx approached tentatively, like Blueblood was a scared, cornered animal. He very much didn’t want to be that. He shouldered off Pharynx’s coat so that he would stop having to hunch over just to keep it on. 

“You’re a goddamn, grown ass stallion, for Celestia’s sake,” said Pharynx “You’re not your parents, you’re not some horrible conglomeration of Canterlot nobility, or high society, or some shit like that, right? You’re you.”

“Yes, I’m me. And all of those people you’re talking about are my reality. You talk like it’s so easy to just be here, in the middle of the woods, wanting to run off galavanting across the globe doing - what? -  _ adventuring? _ ” 

_ Why not, _ thought Blueblood

“Why not?” said Pharynx. 

“B. Because.”

“Oh come on, are you a foal? Because why? Because you’re not  _ supposed to? _ ” 

It sounded much simpler when Pharynx said it out loud than when Blueblood thought about it. 

Blueblood remembered a series of events very clearly. 

He had been in the woods, a lot like he was now, actually, and he’d been on top of a snowy hill, and his two best friends had been beside him. Who they were was irrelevant now, they were hardly best friends anymore. But there he’d been, on a hilltop, looking out onto then-uncharted lands just beyond canterlot. And there they had been, fairly lost, but enjoying being lost very much. And Blueblood had managed on his own to guide all three of them back using some knowledge of the stars that was lost on him now. And when they had reached that hill, and looked out onto a forest of trees and potential for excitement, and they had all just taken a moment to  _ be there _ , and then seen the faint glitter of Canterlot far off in the distance with the setting sun resting on the opposite side of the horizon, a flash of light and other such dramatics had revealed a mark on Blueblood’s flank. The golden star of a compass. 

He’d been so excited about it, too. He’d loved it. It was beautiful, and it matched his mane.  _ Look, mother, look, look at my cutie mark, isn’t it wonderful? _ No, of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t now and it hadn’t been then.  _ Darling, I do hope you do not plan on - what was it? Adventuring? What nonsense, you haven’t time for that. You’re a Noble. Royal, you see? You haven’t time for that. Go on, now, _ malen'kiy, _ go practice your violin,  _ da _?  _ Yes, the violin. He’d forgotten how to play. He’d figured it was like riding a bike, and if he picked one up again, he could probably remember an aria or two. He’d always liked the celtic songs better anyway.  _ Yes  _ mama _ , of course _ .

Blueblood was now standing in the woods, without his two best friends by his side. He didn’t have any best friends now. Only people that he hated, and Pharynx, whom he figured did not fall into either bracket. He didn’t quite know where Pharynx fell, really. Pharynx probably had no clue either, and it was bothering both of them.

“Blue?” said Pharynx. Blueblood hadn’t spoken in a while. 

And still, he didn’t say anything. Just thought for a minute, and then thought,  _ fuck it _ , for the first time in his life, and moved to where Pharynx was, and placed his hands on either side of his face… 

It wasn’t always this, but it was now, it was… what was it really? It was soft. Very soft. Softer than Blueblood could have honestly ever thought it could be. It was a very soft chorus of drums - thought that was probably his heart - and a violin and piano working very beautifully in unison to create a song in Blueblood’s head that was so clear he wondered if perhaps Pharynx could hear it too. 

His kiss was nothing. A very small blink in time. But it was also everything. His kiss was  _ everything _ . Perfect and caring and kind - all things he really wanted to make Blueblood believe he was incapable of - and pure and soft and promising. He wanted his lips there for so much longer than he got them. It was a tradeoff. He could stop kissing him to look at his eyes, which were almost just as wonderful. 

“You’re very agreeable when you don’t think you’re better than everybody else,” said Pharynx. He had intended to be snarky, maybe a little bit humorous, but it was so quiet - a simple breath of a phrase spoken into Blueblood’s mouth, he was still so close - that it really didn’t come off that way. 

“I never thought I was better than you. Maybe everybody else. A little bit,” said Blueblood, in a rather similar way, but with maybe a little breath of a laugh at the end. Maybe. He pressed his forehead as close to Pharynx’s as it would go, allowing their horns to touch. And when he got into this position, he suddenly became far too afraid to move. Why he had done it, he had no idea. It was rather presumptuous of him. Rather instinctual, and thus incredibly animalistic, which he hated was a word that he would even consider using to describe himself, but found that he didn’t quite care about it as much as he might have were he not in the middle of the woods, in the middle of  _ nowhere _ with only one stallion, whom he had just kissed with a passion that had not existed in his world before this particular time and place.

Or, no, it had. Once before. That passion for going out and seeing things. A passion -  _ hunger _ \- for going out and seeing everything, for going one place at a time and really, truly  _ being _ there. He’d wanted that at some point. And he’d landed himself  _ here _ in the woods on perhaps some very confused realization of that dream. He’d have been a sailor. An  _ adventurer _ . All of those maps that were laying in his storage room where he didn’t allow asingle maid to enter and dust because he wanted to pretend they weren’t actually there, they had spent twenty odd years or so sitting there collecting dust. Every single one of them had something on it that when he’d first looked at it, he found that it was more beautiful than any piece of art he could view in a museum. It made him want things beyond Canterlot’s upper class social bracket. 

He suddenly wanted to get back to that room. To pick one up and put it in his pocket, and then later on go dock that ridiculous yacht he’d been marooning around on and go to a marina and lay his eyes on a brand new,  _ beautiful _ sailing vessel for two… for  _ two _ . And take that vessel out and follow a map. Any map

His arms were still wrapped around Pharnx’s neck. Pharynx had taken some opportunity during Blueblood’s thinking to make the smallest, softest movements to make the smooth carapace of his own horn bump into the sleek indents of Blueblood’s. One by one. Every single one. He’d never done this before. 

“Pharynx,” he said. 

“Yah.” 

“How are we going to get home?” 

Home, he was aware, meant distinctly different things for the both of them. But, for some reason, probably because this was a very intimate moment that he did not want to shatter for the  _ world _ , he had thought it meant just the one.  _ Home _ . Obviously. 

It was also a very important question that probably required answering a lot sooner than this point, but. Well. He was asking it now. Sometime closer to the middle of the day than the early morning. 

“Well…” 

* * *

Pharynx’s footing was only slightly thrown off by the incessant thumping in his chest, so he only slipped trying to tiptoe closer to the stream about twice before he got there. 

He was about to teach Blueblood how to eat a plant. And this was only because Blueblood had refused to learn how to set traps for rats and lizards. Because he did not want to eat a rat or a lizard, he’d made that perfectly clear. So, Pharynx had resorted to plants. He wasn’t going to like it either. Blueblood probably thought he meant mint or cloves or something. And he was going to be extremely disappointed to realize how utterly bland ferns tasted, and even more disappointed when he realized that if he wasn’t going to eat a rat, or a lizard, ferns would be the one meal he’d be getting until they reached the Crystal Empire. On foot. 

He contended that if he got to watch Blueblood drink cavernfruit syrup right from the fruit and then make out with him directly afterwards, he also got to see Blueblood react to eating a plant straight out of the ground in real time, and enjoy it immensely. Maybe he’d get him to eat a bug later. Anything was possible. 

And so they got to the bank of the frozen river and Pharynx spent a while or two searching under the bent over caps of snow that roofed over the stream until he found a plant that Blueblood said resembled a tiny, flat Hearth's Warming tree, and then Pharynx told him he had to eat it, because it was the most nutritious thing around that Blueblood would even consider touching, let alone putting in his mouth. To which, of course Blueblood countered that no, that was mostly untrue, because he had absolutely no qualms putting Pharynx in his mouth. Pharynx had no reply to this, other than splitting the fern in half and shoving it, along with half his fist, into his mouth to keep an ungodly noise from leaving it. 

“You know, I’m not very nutritious either,” he said, when they were both quite sick of looking for ferns and had begun meandering about looking for a way to cross the river without getting too wet. Blueblood had suggested this, and Pharynx was an inch away from rolling his eyes and telling him that he would have to deal with getting his perfect -  _ perfect _ \- coat dirty until they got to the Crystal Empire, until Blueblood then added that since he did not have any carapace on him like Pharynx did, he would rather not increase his chances of contracting hypothermia and dying, thank you very much. 

“I know you’re not, stupid.” Blueblood was curiously admiring a berry bush. Pharynx was about to tell him not to, because it was poisonous, but he looked away and kept searching. 

“You know… are you sure you’re cool with… uh… hanging around a ‘filthy changeling insect’ like me? You don’t seem to like us very much,” he said, very clearly not meaning to say “hanging around” as if he didn’t want to say the word “kissing,” like he was an elementary school filly. 

Blueblood stopped moving to consider this. He seemed to be considering it very aggressively, too. And a little bit sadly, but that might have been Pharynx’s imagination. 

“Yes I… I do recall saying something like that.” He turned himself to Pharynx, with only his head facing directly away from him. “I, ahm. I suppose I should apologize for all of that.” 

Pharynx very much wanted to accept this… well he assumed that this  _ was _ the apology Blueblood was referring to. He very much wanted to say “it’s alright” and “you didn’t mean it” but the more he thought about it the more he very much did  _ not _ want to say those things, because as pretty as they sounded, none of them were actually very true at all. He had spent a fair few years being referred to as an insect by various other reich ponies and found that as much as he considered that he didn’t actually care what rich ponies thought about  _ him _ , they weren’t really just referring to him, were they? And that… managed to sting a little bit. Maybe just a little bit. 

“Hah yeah, you, uh. You’re just saying that because you just so happened to fall in love with one, that’s all,” said Pharynx, very much aware he was sounding very,  _ very _ presumptuous by saying that Blueblood was in love with him. He was rather fixated on this until he spotted a very long fallen branch on the ground and busied himself trying to drag it back to the stream while Blueblood formulated what to say in response. 

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it.” Blueblood sounded absurdly somber when he said this. It made Pharynx want to lie down and cry into the snow, which was strange, since Pharynx had never cried - or wanted to cry, really - a day in his life. He’d often wanted to punch things, to cocoon himself and stay there for a while, to go out to the countryside away from everypony else, but never cry. 

Blueblood did not say anything more than this for a long while. Pharynx had managed to lay the large log across the narrowest part of the stream securely enough that he could walk across it to make sure it wouldn’t snap in half when Blueblood walked across it. His coat was starting to collect dirt and snow near his hooves, but his hands were still perfect. With the sun behind him, and his arms held out to balance himself like that, Pharynx thought he almost looked like a Canterlot Cathedral window. He would have almost heard the church choir singing in the back of his head, had he not thought of Blueblood as someone so truly and purely unangelic. 

And that was not to say that he thought he belonged in Tartarus or anything. Pharynx wasn’t much of a religious stallion himself. Blueblood was, for all that he seemed to love to complicate his life, was a simple thing. Good simple. Pharynx watched him, simply, taking small steps across the branch, wobbling around, and realized that cathedral windows probably wouldn’t wobble like that. He reached out to offer his hand to him without imposition. 

He took it, and planted his hooves on the other side of the stream, and took Pharynx by the face and kissed him again. Pharynx, in turn wondered distantly what this particular kiss was for, before he remembered again that Blueblood was a wonderfully simple thing, and who probably had never actually  _ wanted _ to kiss somebody before, and was making up for lost time while he thought that there was a chance he would die before they reached the Crystal Empire. 

It was short and sweet, just like him. 

“Uh. You’re welcome?” 

“Ugh. You’re the worst,” said Blueblood, not meaning it at all. “I was going to say… I liked you, before I kissed you.” He was trying his best to hide his face by holding it as high up as he could, and facing away from Pharynx. “I mean, I did hate you first,” he said, walking away, in the general direction of the mountains in the distance. Which was… actually where they were supposed to be going. Pharynx wondered if Blueblood was actually uninterested in his response, or if he just didn’t want to look back and see a bad one. 

_ Apology accepted, Blue,  _ he thought.  _ Take your time unlearning all that crap they forced you to learn. I’ll be right here _ . 

Pharynx observed Blueblood from the shortest distance behind. He was stumbling around, tripping over a lot of things, and occasionally smacking his horn on a low hanging branch. It was almost amusing to watch, like seeing a bird with a broken wing try to start flying again. He was a simple thing, Pharynx marveled. Underneath all of the clumped-up layers that got laid on him by his parents, and by rich ponies, and by himself sometimes too, he was simple, like all other creatures. And suddenly, with Blueblood now working his very hardest to peel all those layers away, slowly but surely, Pharynx found himself wanting to wait around for him. 

Duke Vladimir Blueblood? No, not really, it didn’t suit him all that much anymore, did it? Vladimir Blueblood? Hardly even so. Not even “Blueblood,” really. 

_ Blue _ . Now that was more like it. 

Pharynx observed Blue,  _ Blue _ , from a much shorter distance behind. He was starting to get the hang of watching for roots buried in the leaves and snow, and he stopped lifting his head so proudly to watch for branches above. He was still arrogant. He was still prideful, still very full of himself and very fanciful and majestic. And he was also new. And different. And - hah - and sober - at least for now. 

Pharynx observed him from beside him. He was all that he could be where he was, and that was just fine with him. He was still himself. And as Pharynx observed him, he was only a little bit alarmed to find that all this time he had been slowly but surely falling in love with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be up ever *other* week or so


End file.
